


Snack (Snake Snack)

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crack, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Vomiting, Vore, or at least vore adjacent, rated t for cruelty to pillows, sleep-snaking, this is exceptionally silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Crowley wakes up after a bout of sneeping (snake sleeping) to discover that he can't find Aziraphale in the flat. His investigations turn up a stomach-churning realisation.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 167





	Snack (Snake Snack)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atmilliways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/gifts).



> Darling AtMilliways, you know you deserve this.

Crowley wakes feeling content and snug, comfortable in his own bed. The sun bleeds through the blinds to paint stripes of warmth across his back. He stretches lazily, arching his spine and reaching towards the headboard. His lack of arms is noted with a kind of casual detachment, an observation of fact rather than anything startling.

_ Snake time then,  _ Crowley thinks to himself, tasting the air on instinct.

Aziraphale’s scent is strong here, clinging to the sheets and concentrated on his side of the bed, Crowley treats himself to another taste because indulgence is a demonic trait. There’s no trace of Aziraphale’s warmth, though. Crowley supposes that he must have already risen, perhaps reluctant to share a blanket with a bloody great serpent.

Still heavy with sleep, Crowley tries to chase the dream he’d been having just before waking. He remembers a great feeling of satisfaction and something that had appealed to his more slithery nature. Something must have caused him to transform in the night. He’s usually got a pretty tight grip on his physical form.

Distracted from his train of thought, Crowley wonders if he should feel embarrassed about the loss of control. Should he feel like a pimply teenager waking up in a sticky puddle of his own spend, so entranced by a dream that it spilt into reality? Crowley chuckles a snakey laugh at the comparison and resettles his jaw on a pillow.

He really is still very drowsy, sleep tugging at him insistently. He yawns widely, enjoying the loud click of his fangs when they come back together. If he’s going to fall straight back to sleep again, he should at least tell Aziraphale not to worry about him.

“Angel!” Crowley calls out, not even bothering to face the door.

He waits for a beat, then another. There’s no response.

With the serpentine equivalent of a frown, Crowley lifts his head and calls again only to receive the same flat silence in response. He tastes the air once more, analysing the trails more thoroughly.

Aziraphale had been in bed until fairly recently, there’s no sign that the front door of the flat had been opened since they’d got in the night before, and there’s also no trace of the tea that Aziraphale brews every morning straight after getting out of bed.

Crowley begins to panic. Something has happened to Aziraphale and Crowley’s reptilian brain is racing with possibilities. He swings his head towards the door and looks for any sign of Aziraphale.

“Angel! Aziraphale!” Crowley cries out, hearing the fear in his voice as it echoes around the hard surfaces of his flat.

There’s still no answer.

Crowley can’t even begin to think about transforming himself back, the need to find Aziraphale is too pressing. He lurches towards the edge of the bed, intending to slither onto the floor.

He moves, but only barely.

Something heavy is holding him in place. Not  _ pinning _ him, exactly, but definitely weighing him down so it takes significantly more effort to move. Crowley tries to turn his head back on himself, squirming in as tight a circle as he can manage and trying to look at his coils.

He struggles to move, feeling blocked just a short distance beyond his throat. It’s frustrating, not being able to move in the way that he wants and he’s reluctant to force himself to the floor with this unknown hindrance on him.

Two things happen at once, leaving Crowley with a nauseous feeling in the pit of his elongated stomach. The muscles at his throat constrict and start a ripple rolling down the length of his body just as something  _ inside _ him shifts, a soft wriggling motion that he is definitely not responsible for.

Using the least snakelike parts of his consciousness, Crowley stares at the ceiling and drags the tip of his tail up his body until he feels the telltale bulge of a fresh meal stretching his skin taut.

_ Fuck.  _ He’s eaten Aziraphale.

Knowing that his powers of visualisation have never been more vital, Crowley imagines as hard as he can that he is both capable of and about to be quite violently sick. He is going to heave and retch until his stomach is empty, and then probably a bit more just for good measure.

A moment later, Crowley’s body begins to cooperate. His muscles reverse their rippling motions, pushing the mass in his stomach up, up, up until something is scratching at the back of his throat. Buoyed by the first signs of success, Crowley puts his imagination into overdrive and throws his whole, long body into evacuating his digestive system.

Feet protrude from Crowley’s mouth, hanging limply at the ankle. Crowley can barely move for fear of injuring Aziraphale at this critical point, so he widens his jaw to try to keep his fangs away from the bare skin. His throat constricts more easily now, and his lower coils wind themselves tighter, acting like the end of an almost empty toothpaste tube that isn’t worth throwing out just yet.

Aziraphale’s hips stretch Crowley’s mouth painfully wide and he wonders how he could possibly have slept through this the first time. An elbow catches on the ridges of Crowley’s soft tissue and he vows to never sleep again if only Aziraphale makes it out of this unscathed.

The shoulders and head slide out almost easily, Crowley throwing himself backwards in his eagerness to get Aziraphale free of him.

Crowley makes a series of phlegmy noises, weaving his head side-to-side to try and shake off the lingering feeling of wrongness. He spits a sodden pillow onto the bed and deflates in disgust.

He lets his entire length slither onto the floor before transforming back into his preferred form and taking quick stock of his corporation. His mouth is sore, his throat is screaming in agony, and he feels distinctly unwell, but it’s nothing that he can’t deal with. There are far bigger issues at stake right now.

Crowley twists to kneel beside the bed, just peeking over the top of the mattress to where Aziraphale lies. He looks a state, all wet, slimy and dishevelled. But he’s breathing and in one piece so Crowley counts his blessings before climbing back up beside him.

He hesitates, unsure of the proper order of operations for waking up someone you accidentally ate. Gritting his teeth, Crowley snaps his fingers and performs a quick miracle to clean Aziraphale of all the mess, as well as banishing the pillow. Crowley didn’t want that in the flat if he could help it. Crossing his legs and pulling an unsullied pillow to his chest, Crowley settled down beside Aziraphale and hunched his shoulders over.

“Aziraphale, wake up,” he says, reaching out to touch Aziraphale’s shoulder.

He rouses slowly, visibly rising through the fogs of a deep sleep to gentle wakefulness. His eyes flutter open and he fixes Crowley with a smile like summer sunshine.

“Hello, Crowley,” Aziraphale stretches his arms above his head and yawns performatively. He seems to catch Crowley’s mood and grows serious. “What’s wrong, love?”

Aziraphale moves to sit up but Crowley presses him back with one hand flat across Aziraphale’s chest.

“I have to tell you something,” he says, dejected and miserable. “I don’t think you’re going to be happy about it, but I have to tell you.”

Aziraphale frowns and rolls onto his side to face Crowley, when this motion isn’t halted he raíses one hand to cup Crowley’s cheek. Crowley dodges the contact and gives a pleading look.

“Whatever it is, Crowley, I’m sure it can’t be as bad as all that.”

Crowley hunches lower over the pillow he’s hugging and whines.

“See, the thing is, yeah,” Crowley tries to gather his thoughts with limited success. “It seems that I was sleep-snaking last night. Don’t think I’ve ever done that before. Not the point, though. I ate you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale blinks slowly, absorbing the information while Crowley waits for the sword to fall.

“Are you saying that you dreamt about eating me?” Aziraphale asks carefully.

“No,” Crowley says in a small voice, curling in on himself as much as he can and refusing to look Aziraphale in the eyes. “I  _ ate _ you. I woke up and I couldn’t find you and I panicked. I was going to come looking for you when I realised that I’d somehow swallowed you in the night.” Crowley was distraught, on the verge of tears. “And I ate a pillow!”

After pondering this revelation for a moment, Aziraphale laughs brightly. He sits up, despite Crowley’s objections, and pulls Crowley into his lap for a cuddle.

“That’s jolly funny, Crowley. And I just slept through it, did I? What a pillock I am!” He coaxes Crowley’s head up for a kiss. “You must have been so worried, my love. Do you think we should invest in a muzzle for you?”

Crowley can bear the teasing easier than the sympathy. He whines and buries his face against Aziraphale’s neck.

“Might need a muzzle, yeah. Or a vivarium. With locks.” 

Aziraphale hums thoughtfully and rocks Crowley gently, making Crowley feel guilty for getting reassurance from the person he was supposed to be apologising to.

“No harm done, love. Don’t let it worry you a second longer.”

Crowley knew he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying, but he takes comfort from the way that Aziraphale loves him regardless.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
> 
> I'm on twitter [@Lurlursaurus](https://twitter.com/Lurlursaurus) and I deserve all your yelling.


End file.
